Skyrim: Dragon Hunters
by BrightunShiny
Summary: Encounter between a Stormcloak, an Imperial soldier, and a Necromancer.


**Violence, and depictions of Necromancy.**

* * *

The wind howled across the land, its shrieking song warning of the bitter storm that was quickly approaching. Two men stood at opposite sides of a large alcove hewn into a mountain pass, shielded from the worst of the biting wind. Neither of them made a move, either towards the other or back down the paths they had just traveled.

One wore the rust colored leather of Imperial armor, its light protection supplemented with animal hair to shield the worst of the chill that permeated through the air. An Imperial shield was strapped tightly to his arm, and his other hand clenched the forged steel of a sharpened Gladius tightly. His stance was measured, with his shield held before him and his sword arm bent at the ready.

The other was outfitted with the dyed blue armor of a Stormcloak. His full helmet hid his face, and every inch of his body not protected by metal or leather was covered by fur. He carried no shield, only a heavily engraved, two-handed steel battleaxe. He stood relaxed, his weapon held in one hand, and appeared to be sizing up his opponent.

The bellow of the coming storm was the only sound that passed between the two men. With the Stormcloak unmoving from his relaxed posture, the Imperial soldier began to lower his sword and shield. The Stormcloak shook his head, and shifted both of his hands to grip the shaft of his weapon tightly, holding it ready before him. His opponent snapped back to his measured stance and braced himself for the coming charge.

The Nord soldier did not disappoint, his roar mirroring that of the storm as he cleared the distance between the two men in long, heavy strides. As he reached his target, the rebel brought his battleaxe screaming down towards the Imperial with a vicious overhead strike.

His opponent was prepared, the man's entire body working in tandem to absorb the force of the brutal attack as it thudded against the treated wood and metal of his shield. Swinging his other arm below his raised protection, the Imperial responded to the charge by striking out at his opponent's stomach with his sharpened Gladius.

The Stormcloak threw his hips back and only just avoided the well aimed strike, seeming to scramble back awkwardly from the attack. Instead of following after his off-balance opponent, the Imperial returned to his practiced stance and watched the Nord soldier warily.

The fur covered man straightened and nodded, impressed with his opponent's restraint, and held up his battleaxe in a quick salute before once again charging the crouched Imperial. This time, the Stormcloak soldier sent the head of his battleaxe straight out, slamming it against his opponents raised shield. The blow drove the Imperial back, and his feet slipped on the edge of the stairs leading down out the alcove, causing him to stumble as he desperately tried to regain his footing on the icy steps.

The Nord took advantage of his reeling opponent and latched the head of his battleaxe onto the man's shield. Yanking his weapon to the side, he tried to pull the Imperial soldier's protection off of his arm.

The shield was secured too tightly, however, and the Imperial used the battleaxe as leverage to secure his footing. The lightly armored soldier slashed his sword against his opponent's exposed left arm. Steel tore through hide and fur to bite at the Stormcloak's flesh, cutting a deep gash in the Nord's arm.

The rebel soldier fell back, trying to pull his battleaxe free, but it was the Imperial's turn to yank the entwined weapon and shield to the side. The axe was ripped from the Stormcloak's hands and he scrambled backwards, pulling a dagger from his belt.

Clenching his wounded arm to his stomach, the Nord kept the small blade held in front of him defensively. The Imperial advanced, his approach methodical and practiced compared to his opponent's earlier impassioned charges. He circled as the Stormcloak followed his movements, and pressed the Nord against one of the alcove's stone walls.

There the combatants froze for a moment – the Imperial giving the Nord a chance to surrender, and the Stormcloak standing defiantly to the end. Ending the stalemate, the Imperial slashed his blade out and clipped opponent's left thigh, easily avoiding the Nord's attempt to parry with his smaller weapon. Like a practiced butcher, the rust-armored soldier hacked away at his opponent, never putting himself in danger of a counterattack by keeping his shield held at the ready.

Finally, the Nord collapsed, his dagger falling uselessly from his hand.

The Imperial stepped back, still cautious of the fallen Stormcloak. The rebel soldier laughed hollowly while shaking his head, but made no effort to stand or continue to fight.

Eyes hard, the Imperial lowered his shield and stepped forward, flipping his grip on his Gladius as he did. The Nord nodded and held his head to the side as his opponent placed the point of the sword in the space between the sitting soldier's helmet and chestplate. Closing his eyes, the Stormcloak prepared to embrace eternity.

The mercy blow did not come, and the Nord felt the blade lift from his chest. Opening his eyes, the Stormcloak saw that a third traveler had entered the alcove.

Its robe seemed akin to a Thalmor agent's, but a deep black had replaced the golden filigree customary of the Altmar apparel. The fabric of its clothing seemed to pull in what little light shone through the growing storm, casting impossible shadows across its frame. The figure's hood was pulled low, completely concealing it's face.

"He is none of your concern," the Imperial suddenly said, and the Nord realized that the figure was staring directly at him. The traveler did not respond, its gaze not moving from the Stormcloak. An itch began to manifest at the base of the fallen soldier's skull, and at that moment he wanted nothing more than the figure to turn away from him.

The Imperial soldier stepped forward between the new arrival and the man he had defeated, sword and shield held at the ready. His eyes were hard and unyielding as he stared down his new opponent. "He is not yours to take," the man said with finality.

The figure stood in silence, its only movement to tilt its head and turn its gaze to the man that now stood before him. As the Imperial stared into the dark emptiness of the figure's hood, he began to hear incomprehensible whispers and felt a dry panic coil in the pit of his stomach. He fought the building fear, clenching the steel of his Gladius and gritting his teeth so hard that it began to hurt. The pain helped him pull through the mental attack and only hardened his resolve.

His opponent straightened and its chest began to expand as it inhaled a seemingly impossible amount of air. " _Fus Ro Dah!"_ the words of power exploded out of the hooded figure with an unrelenting wave of cascading force that sent the crouched Imperial soldier flying through the air. He slammed against the wall behind him, his helmet keeping his skull from being smashed to pieces, but the impact still leaving him dazed. Falling to the ground, the Imperial rose as quickly as he could and again fell into his defensive stance, preparing for his adversary to charge, but the figure was gone.

Casting his gaze frantically around the alcove, the Imperial strained to hear anything over the roaring wind of the storm. Shifting carefully, he kept his shield at the ready as he made his away across the makeshift room, keeping his back to the stone as he tried to reach the fallen Stormcloak.

Something whistled through the air and thudded against his chestplate. The Imperial looked down, his gaze falling on a short metal dart that had completely punctured his armor. Suddenly, every nerve in his body felt as if it had been set to flame. Falling forward, he screamed as the all-consuming poison pulsed through his veins but, just as quickly as it had started, the torture stopped, and the Imperial found himself completely unable to move as a cold paralysis replaced the burning agony.

The robbed traveler blinked back into existence, now kneeling directly in front of the sitting Stormcloak soldier. Reaching out, the figure pulled the Nord's helmet from his head and seemed to study his face. One of its hand moved to cover the man's mouth, ignoring his weak protestations. The palm began to emanate a warm white glow and the rebel soldier began to feel the wounds across his body close and heal.

As the pain of his wounds began to recede, he heard his healer chanting, the words foreign and unearthly. As his strength returned, he struck out at his savior, trying to pull himself free of the entity's grasp, but the figure's grip was impossibly strong. As he pushed against the hand its healing warmth turned into a searing heat and the Stormcloak screamed as fire enveloped him and the figure began to push its arm through his melting flesh. The last thing the Nord felt was the flaming hand forcing his jaw open impossibly wide and seizing his spine through his distended mouth.

A crack of energy erupted through the alcove and a wave of white vapor raced out of the Stormcloak, flying unerringly to the figure's shadowed face and briefly illuminating the metal mask that covered whatever natural features it had. The figure threw its head back as it absorbed the soul of the tortured soldier; its chant continuing long after the man was dead. The paralyzed Imperial was forced to watch the macabre ritual – his body still frozen by the paralytic poison.

As the last of the Nord's soul was absorbed into the hooded figure, it pulled out a Dragonbone knife and drove it into the corpse's gut. Chanting more earnestly now, the figure moved its hand from the Stormcloak's mouth to its forehead and pushed its skull against the rock behind it. A new wind began to howl in the small alcove, its scream even louder than the storm outside. The gale whipped the hood from the crouched figure, and the Imperial soldier witnessed the horror that awaited him.

A dragon priest mask was seared onto the face of the fair skinned Mer, but the most terrifying feature was the device latched onto the back of its shaven skull. Eight tendrils of black stone seemed to grow out of the side of the figure's head, winding their way up to connect together in a huge gemstone, its center pulsing with dark energy.

The throbbing energy increased, and a black mist began to fall out of figure's masked mouth. The necrotic vapor ignored the roaring wind and traveled unerringly down to the embedded Dragonbone weapon. Sliding up its blade, the mist entered the corpse, causing it to twitch and writhe.

The Imperial didn't know how long the ritual lasted – how long the body shuddered and tensed – but suddenly the wind stopped and the Stormcloak's body froze. Pulling back and ripping the knife from the corpse's gut, the figure enveloped its hands in fire, searing them and the Dragonbone blade clean of blood and gore. Falling on its haunches, the masked entity waited.

Minutes passed, and the Imperial felt the paralysis start to ease from his body. His breath became stronger, and if he really tried, he could twitch his fingers slightly.

Suddenly, the Stormcloak's corpse seized up and an unholy dirge exploded out of its devastated throat. The body began to pulse with necrotic energy, its eyes shining with an unearthly azure glow and the charred remains of its mouth blazing with an inner fire. Slamming its fists to the ground, the undead abomination rose, standing over its kneeling creator. Its chest rose and fell angrily, and it roared out once more with what little of its vocal chords remained.

The kneeling figure did not move, did not respond in any way, but the abomination fell back as if censured by some unseen force. Slamming against the stone behind it, the creature roared and again stepped forward before freezing as the figure raised a hand towards it. The abomination growled and looked away from the Mer Necromancer, raising its arm as if to shield itself from its creator. Finally, the undead creature shook as if a wave of pleasure had pulsed up its spine and its shoulders fell forward, its breath panting out of its devastated throat. The figure stood and raised its hand against the abomination's forehead. The creature initially shied away from the touch, but then pushed against it as if the embrace soothed it.

To the side, The Imperial soldier coughed. The paralysis had wore off even further and he began to regain control of his body. The figure turned, and the man tried desperately to rise and flee, but his strength had not yet completely returned and he fell to the cold stone.

The Mer returned its gaze to its creation and nodded, pulling its hood back over its head as it did. The abomination growled and stalked towards the crawling imperial, its footsteps thudding against the smooth rock. Reaching down, the undead creature turned the Imperial over and straddled the man.

Swatting aside the Imperial's desperate attempts to dislodge it, the abomination seized its victims face with one hand and his shoulder with the other. Leaning forward, the charred remains of the creature's mouth enveloped the Imperial's throat. A searing agony erupted where the burnt flesh met the man's neck, and he tried to cry out but had no breath to spare. A white mist began to appear in the air before him, and he realized the undead creature was ripping his soul from his body – feeding on it like a starving leech. Swinging uselessly at the creature with open palms, the Imperial died slowly.

With a sickening inhalation the undead creature finally finished its feeding and threw its head back, roaring to the skies. The last of the Imperial's soul wound its way around the abomination, quickly turning black to match the necrotic energy that now engorged the creature, making its muscles bulge with untested strength.

The abomination rose, turning to face its creator.

"Come." The command was spoken quietly, but bombarded through the creature's mind as an unstoppable compulsion. The creature walked forward, its gait heavy and awkward as it followed its master down the winding steps of the mountain pass.

In the distance, the storm waned as if its strength had been stolen by some unseen power. The roar of before had been replaced by a quiet whisper as small snowflakes fell from the sky like ashes.


End file.
